


Once Upon A Time: A Strange Smutty Fairytale

by aquandrian



Category: Real Person Slash, Smallville, The Smashing Pumpkins (band)
Genre: M/M, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-18
Updated: 2005-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/aquandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Errr. </p><p>Disclaimer: Lex Luthor belongs to Marvel. Billy Corgan belongs to himself. My brain belongs not to me. </p><p>Lex looks like Michael Rosenbaum. Corgan looks like he did in the Bullets With Butterfly Wings video but with a different shirt I made up:</p><p>Originally posted at http://aquandrian.livejournal.com/294381.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Time: A Strange Smutty Fairytale

Lex doesn’t like rock, alterna-rock, grunge and definitely not any gothic romantic shit. Industrial house techno does him just fine with the occasional symphony for the token eclectic touch. So when he finds himself in Chicago in the mid Nineties with a dealer’s number and nothing better to do than piss his father off, an alley behind a club seems as good a place as any to pick up.

Lex gets the oddest feeling of universes melting into each other.

There's a certain feyness about the boy that belies the tall arrogance, broad shoulders and belligerent tension. What's the voice like, Lex calculates, whiny and snarling? 

“Hey,” Lex says casually, “want a smoke?”

A moment of calculation back. Ha. 

"Sure." And the voice is unexpected drawl, baritone hard. Dichotomies all over the place, Lex thinks with a grin.

The boy takes the smoke, fingers long and slender. Lex notices he stands a little too close, head bent, straight dyed dark hair falling across pale forehead as he puts the cigarette to his lips. Smoke and bodies and the snakeslick scent of alcohol. Lex takes a chance and steps just a tiny bit in and waits. Waits for the boy to raise his head and look him in the eye.

Oh. Oh. Blue eye. That strange soft slither of possibilities coalescing around them. Or maybe it's just the E. 

“Having a good night?” 

And the boy's not quite staring at the gleam of light off bone curve but his eyes are curious cold blue but not quite icy enough to intimidate. Not yet, Lex reminds himself, boys learn. He did. 

“Yeah.” 

Lex offers a light. Mouth soft and red, just nicely curved and sensitive, yeah nice and biteable. And there's that glint of ice glitter as he breathes in, out and smoke curls acrid and dirty between them.

Lex bends his head and kisses, doesn't think, doesn't calculate, just chances it on the soft red smoke heat of a young boy's mouth in a bright dewy alley behind a thumping club. And oh yeah, risk. Scar against dip, curve sliding curve and the slickest acrid touch of tongue. Fingers, long and slender, curl in the mesh, nails scrape against tiny bared circles of chest, and Lex has him against the wall, a sudden crowd moan devour of pushing flesh and slippery clothes and a thigh wedged good and hard against his crotch. He actually makes a sound when Lex takes his mouth away and just looks.

Hot blue eyes now, flush of youth across rounded cheekbone, and Lex can see the scrabbling for composure. God, so very young. Mustn't smile, definitely not laugh. Fingertips sliding down a fraction of silver taut thigh. The muscle jumps beneath his touch. And the boy has the audacity to actually look at the bald head. Lex grins. “Come home with me.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you're lucky.”

And now there's a flickerconfusion of revulsion and fascination. Lex doesn’t move, tries to keep his expression as smooth as possible. The cigarette has long since skittered across the asphalt, smouldering somewhere in the shadows. The boy is hunching a little against the bricks, blue shard eyes flicking suspicious and a little hungry over Lex, linger a little where skin peeks pale and soft through mesh, where metal glints cold through duskier tight flesh. Lex sees the long fingers twitch and does grin when the boy shoots him a defiant look. Smart kid. Something devious and manipulative about his face. 

Still Lex is getting bored. A club full of willing young things and he's in a cold dirty alley, waiting for this boy with questionable sartorial taste to make up his conflicted little mind. Which might appeal to him on nights of particular rebellion but —

He’s kissed in a catch of sharp teeth and soft insistent lips. Lex stays perfectly still, eyes closed on the image of choirboy face tipping up in a glitter of demented blue eyes, red mouth reaching. Nothing so flattering as the sinner seduced by debauched innocence. Or something, Lex thinks hazily on the quick push and lick of tongue into his mouth. The boy squirms into him, somehow makes himself smaller against the hotcold breadth of Lex, and it's a gorgeous shocking turn on. 

Lex braces one hand against the brick, pulls his mouth away and feels finds the moan in the taut white flesh between ear and throat. The sound deepens with teeth, the demented boy actually pushes his silver crotch against Lex and as Lex catches his breath, there's a long slow grind, back arching, smoke breath hot on his neck. 

So here, now. Not home in the safety of a warm room but here, now is what the boy wants. Makes sense. Time was Lex did most of his fucking in alleys. 

Young hands skitter on mesh, bold slow and strong on leather. Lex straightens up against him, slides his arm higher on the brick so they're fitted together, breath to breath, abdomen to abdomen, cock to cock. There's the flimsy silky material of a shirt between them and Lex pushes his free hand up under, finds the quick hot heave of chest. Those blue eyes haven't wavered, hot and a little wild, mouth swollen and parted. Lex lets his own mouth curl, liking what he sees, and knows there's the disconcerting glint of teeth when a long slender hand slides and flattens across leathered cock ridge. 

Something hard heavy and iron slams open, crashes against brick, spilling new light and old noise in a glare of shock across the alley. It's nobody they know but the boy breaks free in a rush of cold startled space. Skittish young things who haven’t yet figured out that it doesn’t have to be one or the other. Lex lets him go, he should have known. Turns his back to the brick, he tilts his head, ah the familiar feel of cold rough brick just there. His hand trails across the ache of cock, nothing new here either, right?

And something, a breath or particular stillness in the wake of people vanishing out of the alley, makes him glance over. The nameless boy stares back at him, throat working once twice before he realises the giveaway. Lex arches a lazy brow, maybe he should sell tickets? Yes, the hotcold blue gaze is caught by Lex's pale hand palming the front of sleek straining leather. 

But he's made up his mind, it seems. Because he catches the edge of the closing iron door and says, barely audible over the white roar of industrial techno, "What's your name?"

To his credit, Lex doesn't actually stare. A little twist to his mouth, he thinks maybe this encounter was far more special than first apparent. "Lex. Lex Luthor."

No recognition. Just a quick nod and the iron door slamming shut behind him. 

Nothing so seductive. It's the Frottage That Speaks An Unrecognised Name. 

Lex snorts, jacks himself off, licks his palm and goes back into the club to take some redheaded sorority girl home. 

~~~~~~

The sight of him is a wire coiling around Lex's heart. 

A boy with weirdly long legs and broad shoulders sprawled like a fey wild thing by the pot plant, heavy dark boots on the cold bright pavement, one slender hand dangling off a drawn up knee, his snub nosed profile strobed by passing cars. Lex's step slows, he doesn't even come in the front door lately but he's forgotten which car he left where and a walk home through the neon Chicago dew seemed like a good idea coming off the E.

Wispy dark hair curved over the pale forehead makes Lex think of incense and long white robes edged with red and gold rucked up, smoky stolen kisses by the altar. The boy looks around and seems quite unsurprised to see Lex. Neither says a word. He climbs to his feet and Lex notes the unsteady hand braced against the wall. Dark metal eyes in the citylight that fix on him.

"Mr Luthor."

The doorman has noticed Lex but it's a sure bet the boy was ignored for a good long while. Lex jerks a barely civil nod and knows the boy's two steps behind as he goes through the open door.

There might have been a name, Lex doesn’t remember too many words in the alley and couldn't be bothered making small talk. In the elevator, they lean against adjacent dark wood panelled walls and Lex watches. The redheaded sorority girl is tucked away, all loved up, in her own bed. The sun will be up in a few hours. So much irrelevance to the garish gleam of silver sealskin stretched over young taut thighs and the spill of silky shirt from bare chest. The boy stares back for a good while, first defiant determined lust that shakes and fluctuates with that terrible unsureness of adolescence.

The elevator doors slide open and Lex rolls his neck as he keys open the utterly superfluous lock. The security systems had turned off the moment he entered the elevator but still it's nice to have the illusion of seclusion even if he barely visits here. 

Still no words. Interesting. Sleep wired, Lex heads for the bar. Vodka yes. He takes a couple of swigs straight from the bottle, flipping a mental finger to scores of disapproving nannies. Leans on the counter and watches the boy's reaction to a Luthor sometimes residence.

The boy looks sidelong, stays very still a few steps inside, his hands curled gently against his thighs. Lex feels a sudden vicious urge to hurt the boy ... was he ever that wary, that vulnerable?

But, wait, not everyone had a demented lion for a father. Right.

Lex pours out a shotglass of vodka and sets it with a click on the counter. The movement sends a thrill of latent chemical pleasure through the muscle and vein of his arm down his spine. And the quick sharp look he gets kicks an edge to it.

He could ask how his night was. He could ask how old he is. He could ask what the fuck he's doing here. More irrelevance. What's your name, favourite colour, favourite movie? Are you high? Lex puts the bottle to his lips and grins behind the slurbite of alcohol.

The boy crosses the room, moves like a deeply obsessive lie coloured all metal and skin in the soft white glow of the penthouse. Lex watches the slender fingers slip around the small glass, watches the ice white slide contour of throat as he tosses the shot back. And his hand is there, slipping around flesh sinew and bone, thumb against the cut of adam's apple, light light just now.

There's something like peace in the blue eyes that look back at him. Submission, willing and just what Lex needs suddenly and fiercely in these small hours. Which gives the power to who exactly? 

Lex slides his hand slow down, against the rising breath, dragging his fingerprints into the young smooth flesh. Skin like ... like ... the boy puts a hand abruptly strong across his. And the splash of colour is wrongawfulfascinating. Despite all his training, Lex stares. It's for a split moment but the boy sees and there are shards of violent glass in his blue glare. Lex finds the barest grin tugging at his mouth. Softly he says "Freak."

And the boy understands. His smile is slow wide and breakingly sweet.

There's too much counter between them. Lex lets go, somewhat regretting the lack of marks on skin. Palm curled around the neck of the bottle, he walks without looking back down the corridor and into the bedroom. Music, music. Sex must always be to music and ah the infinite possibilities. Tonight, Lex trails his fingers across the ridges and knobs of the stereo and slots in an album of glass glitter and steel edges. Yeah.

The boy looks softer in the dim golden glow of the bedroom. He stands with right hand clasped over the marked left held close to his chest, intense eyes slanting from under the dark brows, looks hard at the immaculate dark blue and wood shapes of a barely inhabited space. That stance has all the evidence of a hunted creature but the points of his shoulders are still defiant. Lex rubs his thumb thoughtfully over the mouth of the bottle, wonders if he can communicate the specific nature of this desire without words.

And it's really quite simple. The boy sees him staring at that wine red stain and when he tenses, Lex slides his gaze slowly up, lingers on the open shape of flesh between silky messes of material. Smart boy. He waits a few moments until Lex smiles slow and sort of evil, then, with only the slightest colour of heat, he begins to unbutton the shirt. From the lower part, head not bent but slightly averted, the curve of his cheek pure and creamy in the dewsoft light. Lex moves closer only for something to do, he keeps still three paces between them, close enough to intimidate, far enough to be the spectator.

And it's with a beautiful willing submission that the boy turns his back, slips the silky shirt from his shoulders and extends one arm in an odd graceful gesture of nothing explicable. A different kind of vicious pleasure curves Lex's mouth. Cos it's a giddy dionysian kind of violence that spills from one shoulder, irreverent and irregular in spurts and splotches down the young toned contour of muscle sinew and bone, patches of ice cream skin mouthable in the wine soaked wrongness.

Lex moves in, mouth parting, seeking the taste of this particular innocence. But the boy moves just as fluidly, swerves to face him. Lex manages not to look too startled. And the arrogant fellow, on a blue sliced glance, reaches his hand to the hem of the mesh top. Submissive, right ... Lex catches the wrist, circling the strong thin bones, and grins somewhat mockingly back. Fine. Fine. Freak show it is.

He takes a step back, runs a hand from shoulder across chest to hip, nudging metal into latent twist of sensation like mercury through blood. The boy's hands are curling into gentle fists by his thighs again, intense eyes fixing under the slanting brows, following movement. 

Lex changes his mind and steps back in, that obsessive attention's too delicious to pass up. And he likes the feel of those thin strong bones in his grip. The boy breathes in narrow, lashes dark and short against pale curve. His palm rests a moment against Lex's abdomen, nothing but soft hot breath between them. Lex traces the contour of wrist bone with his thumb, learning the scent of this half naked quicksilver boy. Smells like nicotine and metal. 

He slides. Rucks up the thin black mesh, feeling as he goes and Lex sees every sensation and reaction clear in the ricepaper lovely face, the tremor of breath through strangely childlike nose. The skin of his palm is both rough and smooth, patches of use and patches of baby softness. Lex makes a note to ask later. But for now, he reaches his hand silent forward and hooks one finger into the edge of silver. Flesh and warmth and a tide of colour across cheekbones. And the boy leans to taste. 

Lex sighs, tips his chin to the ceiling, closes his eyes to the touch of tongue to collar hollow, slick and pointed and again that strange dichotomy of soft smooth and rough rub. Now it's two hands, surer and lustier, pushing up as the vulnerable mouth comes lower. Lex fists a hand in dark hair and snarls a silent moment when the boy licks a swipe across nipple and returns to tongue the steel ring hotcold against Lex's skin. There's a dark sound deep in the young throat, he presses closer, fingers digging into Lex's sides. Squirms against Lex's crotch which is either the worst or smartest idea because Lex reacts and yanks back on his hair. Metal between teeth and he doesn't let go, sparking streaking gorgeous brutal pain through Lex's chest right up into his throat. And fuckit if the boy isn't glittering a little with mischief as he lets go.

How quickly they learn.

For that, he gets flung back onto the bed, long legs sprawled apart, the breath knocked out of him, hot blue eyes laughing still. Lex grabs one ankle and flips him over in a nice brutal wrench. A choked moan sounds just under the cold relentless music but Lex isn’t listening, straddles the silver thighs and slides his hand so the hips arch of themselves and Lex undoes the front. The boy tries to scrabble up onto his elbows. This doesn’t quite work when Lex’s tongue flattens and licks along the stained shoulder, his hand closing firm around young sleek cock flesh. A snarl, a melt and yet a push back into Lex’s leather strained crotch. Lex bites and bites sharp, drags the edge of his canines into the grain of skin, half addled at the possibility of tasting wine wrong. He drags his hand too. The boy’s back snaps like a wild thing and Lex narrowly escapes injury, laughs a little. Leans over and reaches his free hand to the bedside table where a little white envelope tips out over the boy’s cream splotched skin. 

“Hold still.”

And he does, a sob in his breath because Lex is lazily jacking him off as he cuts lines and swirls of cocaine across the stains, pretty white koch patterns on blood imitation chaos. Lex smiles at his little masterpiece for a few moments, running the nail of his thumb up the ropey vein of a quietly shuddering boy’s cock. He does a line and squeezes hard at the base. Like flying, fucking, fountaining. And just for the hell of it, he lets go and flips the boy onto his back, white powder scattering like heart fragments across dark blue sheets. Ah, debauched choirboy with mad blue eyes and sprawled white thighs reaching for him, marked hand and beautiful pale hand. 

Lex grins, tugs the mesh shirt over his head and leans in for a giddy aggressive kiss. One hand in the dirty dyed hair, devouring jagged uneven teeth and wild tongue, and the other hand tugging brutal on hard tender cock trapped between his black smooth thighs. Steel ring rubs nipple to nipple, Lex pulls his mouth away, pushes his full body down in a vicious moment, and the boy makes a kind of guttural whiny snarl, rubs his cockhead again and again against slick leather hard thigh, leaking clear soul on dark contour. 

Beautiful spine snapping throat arching ceaseless rhythm, Lex watches, heart racing harder and harder, hand stripping faster and faster. And he’s exquisite when he comes, all union all truth all loss, the moment travelling through him visible like the ecstasy of a pierced saint, skywild blue eyes focusing on some bright inexplicable vision, fingers thin and painful around Lex’s wrist, muscles hardening in a seamless series, blood rushing under ricepaper skin in tides of soft delusion, comes in shocked silence, in spurts and stains on leather and flesh. 

Lex waits only long enough for the boy to focus on him. He could give him a choice here, debates it for two seconds before deciding not. White weakened thighs splayed on dark sheets, he goes down and licks up, careless of rough tongue on overly sensitised cock skin, sucking up the strange vile intimate taste of someone else’s come. A few whimpers of almost-pain but those hands are curled once more and Lex knows without looking that the prettily curved eyes are clenched shut. Lex licks down the length of inner thigh, liking the tension that follows like molten iron, and slides ankles over his shoulders. Skittish young things are about to get much much more than they bargained for in their moment of experimentation. 

And sure enough the boy recoils but Lex has no cocaine compunction about inflicting bruises, locks his hands brutal on spread thighs, licks in deeper, noses around the dark curve of scrotum, and stabs his tongue in harder, forcing his way in. Sweat and innermost flesh, the rough fabulous crinkle of pubic hair. Lex remembers why he likes this so damned much and is all the more insistent. And, ah, when his tongue tip scrapes the spot, the boy does cry out, a lovely pure startled sound clear over the music. Lex shoulders up, replacing mouth with hand, fingers crooking in deep and easy now, stroking pushing, and he looks. Nude, breathless and shaking a little, the boy has his arms out across the midnight bed, fingers curled into sheets. He’s bitten his lip and it bleeds in a few tiny spots of red glistening the lovely vulnerable mouth. Lex leans to taste, bending one young leg back, and blood tastes metal and soul. He’s kissed back, helpless distractedly hungry, tongue slipping over the scar on his mouth. And it’s a shock of palm dragging against his raging denied cock trapped in leather. 

Lex falls back, braced on hands against the bed, and manages a twisted grin at the boy who smirks back at him as he crawls forward. Smudge and swerve of sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, he looks at Lex with something very close to demonic anticipation. Lex thinks that must be some fucking good coke. Would reach out to force attention to his cock but won’t because that would be a bit too revealing even now in the dregs of a debauched night. Just waits and watches and feels every edge of the aching unsatisfied knife physical lust. 

The boy puts his hand on Lex’s thigh and Lex nearly fucking comes, manages not to only on some superhuman effort. Also, far too old to come in his pants. Biting a grin into the inside of his cheek, he watches the boy stroke up the contour of sleek black leather thigh. Good firm grip, yeah. The long slender hand hesitates at the buttons and Lex darts an icy look at the young face. Damned young things. 

But the boy mocks himself too, the curl of a sneer at the corner of his lips, and undoes the buttons quick light. Lex’s heart is triple hammering now, his arms shaking a little with sexcokeurgency. And oh god he uses the strong marked left hand, long fingers closing firm and callused on the tips. Lex groans deep in his throat, lets his head fall back, eyes closing with the good good relief of a sure hand on his cock. Catches his breath when a wet stripe is licked up the line of his throat and that mouth closes on the contour of his chin, strange and lovely, and he kisses blindly back, fucking up now into the tight roughsmooth fist. Murmur of something into his mouth, a thumb rubs sudden and beautiful across the leaking head of his cock, and Lex flinches happily. 

It’s the fucking redefinition of evil when both hand and mouth are taken away. Lex’s eyes snap open, mouth parting on a snarl. But the boy’s turned, leaned flat across the bed, all long ice cream limbs and sleek curving back. Lex gets mildly distracted and stares before remembering he’s not being touched and then realising it’s lube the boy’s about to toss at him. Catches the little bottle in the same surge of movement that hooks his free hand around the back of a young neck. The boy kisses with arrogance too, very amusing that. Lex drags him onto his lap, young halfhard cock against his like a dark violent raging thing, and they rub up against each other for a few terrible blindingly beautiful minutes.

“Now,” Lex says against a parted breathless mouth. The boy moans in response, slides off Lex’s lap and turns with that same wild grace onto his knees. Now Lex does mouth the stains once more as he slicks his fingers and spreads a willing submissive body pushing back against him. The dark head dips between broad sharp shoulders, arms tensing into contour, hands braced on the bed, when Lex pushes his cock against him. It’s going to hurt no matter what, Lex wants to say with startling sympathy. He doesn’t because the boy’s no fool. 

Into him, just the head, and Lex closes his mouth on the curve of pale shoulder, closes his eyes and waits because that tightness is unbelievable all over again. Minute shudders of so much tension, then the boy does it himself, undulates his spine and pushes back like some determined masochist and Lex eases forward in the same movement, in in until that moment of pure right fit when all his world narrows to this slow breath and this slow relentless hold. Heat that creeps under his skin, seeps into him and runs like slow thick mercury, and the dark dark wetness of intimacy black behind his eyes, and god the unforgivable irreplaceable vice of a young willing man. 

Lex remembers to breathe and opens his eyes. Carefully, he straightens up, absorbing the whimper of accompanying movement, and he tilts the boy’s head back til it rests on his shoulder. Needs to be able to see. The choirboy has his eyes shut, cheeks mottled with colour, breathing fast and shallow, but his spine is well fitted against Lex’s chest and his cock is a determined curve against the pale abdomen. Lex smiles slow and nudges his hips forward. Steel ring slips hot and strange between them, the boy catches his breath. And it’s easier, harder, faster, sweeter from there. Lex lets the young lithe body curve forward, slides one hand over the long swerve of back before shaping his fingers to narrow strong hips, and the boy fucks himself with increasing surety, fey and feral and freakish, dark hot and tight around Lex’s swallowed cock. 

At some point, Lex’s sight shorts out, at some point the coke high takes over in all aggression. And at some point, the boy grabs Lex’s hand, forces it around his cock. Lex holds him close, possessive and demented in druglove, fists down and fucks up, angling thumb and cock head because he knows he knows and it’s always always possession and addiction. This time the boy does cry out when he comes and Lex rides feels it through, unnamed vowel note to clenching rippling muscle to sweat slippery skin. The boy comes all over his hand, thick wet splutters of sensation. It’s when that hand is guided up and licked, fingers sucked into soft hot mouth — bitten — that Lex comes on a snarlsob of teeth into freak skin. No inexplicable vision, just pure scalding colours and a release he feels like white cocaine light all the way down his spine, melting through muscle and bone and skin til he just doesn’t exist. 

Disengaging slow and reluctant in the dim return of senses and far far less intellect. Lex has a brief and nonsensical thought about safe sex before slumping back into the pillows, one hand brushing languid across his chest. He knows he’s being watched, feels the boy curled up and possibly a little broken, not touching. Knows this should be the moment he should tell the boy to get dressed and get out, possibly even pay a little. 

Lex slits his eyes open and sees the unsurety of adolescence return. And now he’s lazily curious, wants to ask if the pimp’s waiting around the neon corner. But that fucking good coke must have been cut with something totally annoying because sleep seems a far better idea. Stay or go, it makes no difference. And the cameras will catch any petty theft.

Lex struggles out of the leather trousers, curls on his side, kicks the covers up and falls asleep in a matter of minutes. He dreams of sky cold eyes that turn oddly green and neon that fades to cornfields. The universe dies and revives around him. None of this bothers him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he wakes alone. A meditative shower as specks and smears slide off his unmarked skin. Dressed, he inspects his wallet and then the security tapes. On the small screens, a tall young man walks into the elevator and glances out at the camera just as the doors close. His eyes are thoughtful. And all the cash is still in the wallet.

Mildly disappointed, Lex saunters into the living room and flicks on the television. At least his father will be properly annoyed when the doorman and cleaning staff make their reports and the rest of the tapes are reviewed. Lex grins. Chicago’s good for something, then.

His grin fixes when he actually notices the screen, fixes for a few moments until he laughs short and soft. So not a rent boy. Just a rock star. That explains the clothes. Lex watches the rest of the music video, eyes narrowing. When it ends, he changes the channel and doesn’t hear a single word of the entire halfhour newscast. 

He still doesn’t like rock, alterna-rock, grunge, and forget about gothic romantic shit. And he never returns to Chicago. But the next time he kisses a tall broad shouldered boy with a vulnerable mouth, he decides to not let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously the frottage term is paraphrased from Lord Alfred (Bosie) Douglas. The sorority girl can be whoever you like. "What's your favourite" quote from Velvet Goldmine. The album Lex puts on is The 100th Window by Massive Attack. Pick the Corgan lyrics scattered through the fic.


End file.
